The Stubborn Patient
by Punkotic
Summary: The Joker gets shot in the shoulder during a Heist, injured; he proves to be a rather stubborn patient for Harley to treat whilst waiting for the Doctor to arrive with Frost.


It had started off as a simple bank heist.

Nothing that the King and Queen of Gotham couldn't handle, the Joker's signature laugh had echoed throughout the entire operation. A tool to making the guard's blood run cold, this is what made the heist so easy; his joy made them quiver.

The guards contained by his henchmen and the loot collected, the Joker failed to resist the smirk that had invaded his red stained lips.

Quiver led to fear, and fear led to dictation.

However, with every dictatorship, there always lingered a violator; and that came in the form of the guard that was stationed at the back of the bank. Easily forgotten amongst the swarm of chaos, his fingers had hastily found the trigger of his armed gun. Equipped with a concoction of both fear and adrenaline as it surged through his system, he took the shot.

The shot not clear and his sense of judgement lacking, the bullet had merely skimmed past the henchmen before it had twisted its way into the Joker's shoulder. A definite shot that was echoed with a loud snarl from the Joker's lips, it followed with a silvered maniac laugh at the affliction of pain. Far from being fallen, the guard wished that the bullet had been a couple inches to the left, so it could have claimed his heart.

Not given enough time for a second shot, the Joker's henchman proved to have the more accurate arm, as they fired at his own. A natural reflex to the sound of unwanted gunfire, his henchmen had been trained to not kill the assassin but to disarm them with a bullet to their firing arm. The threat eliminated, it was the Joker; who had the honour of spilling the blood.

"I gotta admit," he began with a huffed breath, his posture staggered; he walked over to the contained guard. "I like it when the guards resist."

The pain in his shoulder now defiant, there was an unpleasant sight of cotton colliding with flesh as it twisted its way around the bullet wound. Not an exit wound, the crimson blood which oozed out stuck to his shirt like glue.

His gun retrieved, he only had to look at the fear in the guard's eyes before silver crept across his face. "Makes the heists more worthwhile."

The barrel emptied into the heap of the fallen guard, his shoulder throbbed in a slight aftershock; desperate for medical attention he was too stubborn to obtain it. A wound that proved easy for him to obtain, it however proved difficult for him to handle as his fingers teased at the wound; desperate to get the bullet out.

"Puddin'! Don't touch it, you'll only make it worse." Cried Harley once they had finally left the bank. The situation with the guards contained the Joker had spent the last couple minutes stubbornly trying to treat his injury.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Not doing himself any good, his fingers oozed with crimson and with a sharp hiss; he claimed the bullet. Not a particularly large one, to the Joker's luck the bullet wound wasn't either. The harm not as bad as it could have been, he flicked the metal out of the window in disgust.

"You need a Doctor Mr. J; you might get an infection if you don't..."

Despite Harley's attempt in caring for the Joker's initial state, his stubbornness took the better of him and he refused to have any interaction with her. Clearly pained but immune to show it, it was only when Harley ordered Frost to get a Doctor that he finally retaliated.

He snapped, "I don't need a Doctor!"

But Harley however, didn't care at the Joker's outburst and to his annoyance; she deliberately ignored him. Her mind determined to give her Puddin' the medical attention that he desperately needed; she firmly kept her ground until the Joker had finally surrendered to her authority.

"Fine! Get a bloody Doctor, if it'll make you shut up…"

Back home and Frost out on the search for the best Doctor that he could possibly find, Harley's next challenge was to try and persuade the Joker to let her clean the wound; ready for the Doctor when he arrived it was however easily said than done.

Reluctant, he lashed out at her; a stubborn child who didn't know what was best for his own good, but Harley stood her ground. Unfazed, her strategy was the promise that she would be gentle, not entirely convincing it was the mention of the Doctor being given less work to do hence being able to leave earlier that finally won the Joker over.

Harley, having felt relieved had disappeared for a brief moment before she reappeared with a bowl of steaming water accompanied by a clean cloth. The Joker's strength regained, he had managed to push himself up onto his palms before his back was guided against the leg of the sofa. With Harley's fingers occupied on soaking the cloth in the sanitised hot water, he took off his shirt.

His chest revealed, it was an astonishing sight of crimson as it had concocted itself in a furious explosion of colour. Exposed for the first time as it stung against the cool air, the pain only intensified when he flexed it subconsciously. Mostly caked and coagulated blood, a small collection of it still continued to ooze out of the wound by his sudden movement.

His mind screamed pain but his silver lips echoed laughter.

No longer phased by the Joker's random outbursts, Harley began to lightly dab at the dried blood; irritating it and cleaning it off. "Almost got your tattoo." she murmured, careful not to prod at the wound too hard she traced her finger gently over the harlequin hat. Proven to be unscathed when the tissue irritated the crimson she grew to be rather thankful. Out of all of the tattoos that the Joker owned, she took a liking to that particular inked masterpiece; she had a connection with this one.

After all, the Joker seemed to be rather fond of harlequins.

A grunt escaped the Joker's lips, too arrogant to respond the best he had to offer was the display of his gnashers. "How long until you're done?"

Harley frowned, "steady on Puddin', I've barely started." Unimpressed, she took one last sweep with the cloth to reveal the inked harlequin. Back at its former glory, she washed the cloth once before she then moved to the area on the right side of his wound. This side to be concocted with a mixture of crimson and bleached skin; she once again began to delicately dab at the affliction. Presented with a thicker blood coagulation than the first, her fingers had to flex themselves around the cloth to tease it off of his skin.

"Then hurry up."

For a patient, he sure weren't acting like one.

"What's the rush Mr. J? I'm only trying to help you and here you are givin' me grief."

"I never asked for your help!"

She ignored him.

The mood between the pair of them to be solemn, the Joker continued to watch her as she carried out the routine of cleaning his chest followed by washing out the cloth. She did this for about five minutes, and in that time the soapy water had grown to collect a light pink froth.

"If you're like this with me then how are ya gonna be when the Doc finally arrives?"

Harley's words were echoed with a low curse from the Joker's lips. Not fond of anyone with a degree in the medical profession, the thought of having someone in his house fully qualified to assess his insanity made the remaining blood inside of his system boil.

"He's not gonna touch me." he mumbled.

Stubborn being his star word of the day, the back of Harley's mind lingered with the possibility of her referring to him as a sulky toddler. Her humour not the same as Mr. J's, she kept it no more than an observation.

"Don't be silly, all he'll wanna do is seal your wound followed by a subscription of antibiotics." she lightly began after she had rinsed out the cloth, "you have to realise Mr. J that there are actually people out there who care about your well-being."

He scoffed, the first time in minutes his lips lingered in response to the sense of humour that Harley displayed for him. "There's a difference between being altruistic and coerced Harls, and I think we both know what category the Doc will fall in."

She stared at him, "So? Did I say that it was the Doctor who cared about your initial state?"

The Joker raised his eyebrow.

"I was talkin' about Frost, who is currently working his butt off to get an adequate Doctor to fix your shoulder; and if he don't find one he's gonna have me to answer to."

The Joker laughed again, this time a genuine laugh he cackled his silver teeth with high praise. The Harley he knew to be remerging over the Dr. Harleen Quinzel who had briefly taken over her sub-conscience, his snicker was accompanied by a soft giggle.

His mood cooled, the cloth had moved back to the edge of the bullet wound where crimson had recollected itself. Far from being cleaned but his mind now made partially positive, he allowed Harley to continue cleaning the wounded area until Frost and the victimised Doctor had arrived.

His wound not as severe to how it could have been, Harley shared a look with Frost when the Joker threatened the Doctor with a mauled snarl at the approach with a medical needle and stitch. Entertained more than anything, the pair of them smirked uncontrollably at the Doctor's misfortune.

Proven to be a worse patient than he was for Harley, it took over five minutes just for the Doctor to apply some anaesthetic cream; and by that time the Joker had lost his status as the 'patient'.

It was safe to say that the situation was definitely coerced.


End file.
